BREATHE
by Jessieness
Summary: REPOSTED. Same format. Haunted in Jesse's POV, with a couple of flashbacks in between. Might actually finish this one. R&R.


**Hey there!**

So this pretty much follows the same kind of format that the old one does, but I just had this whole problem with the way I started it—don't ask, I'm just like a freak about this sort of stuff—so I had had to rewrite it.

I will hopefully continue this, all the way till the end, as long as I don't recieve news of this story being shit, or something.

For those who have no idea what the hell I'm talking about... it's basically Haunted, in Jesse's point of view. Because Jesse's hot.

Okay. Read on.

* * *

Chapter one.

"_Our Father who art in heaven, _

_ Hallowed be thy name.' _

He is reading when I first arrive, seated benevolently in that dusty old armchair from the Mission's rectory, which he had adjusted to face the sun.

Quietly I step over to where he is resting, careful so as not to disturb the blessed silence. It is very rare an occasion in which the Father has adequate time to unwind.

From where I stand, I can barely make out the author's name. Keirkegaard.

_'Thy kingdom come, _

_ Thy will be done, _

_ On earth as it is in heaven.' _

"The Danish philosopher, I trust you've heard of him." Father Dominic's voice cuts through the silence like broken glass. All of a sudden I feel regretful. Perhaps I should have come at another time.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, "I shall leave you to rest."

"Nonsense," he says, peering up at me. "I'm happy to have company. Now tell me," he closes the text, thumb still lodged between two pages, and holds it up so that I can clearly see the spine. "Have you read this one?"

_The Concept of Anxiety_. "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"Well," says the Father. "It's extremely engrossing. (A/n: Cough, cough. I'll bet.) He conveys that sin, language, memory, and the sensual are connected in both the retroactive and premonitory sense. So in a way, the things we do, in everyday life, the decisions we make, all add up to our anxiety."

"And what do you think?" I ask, "Do you agree with his thesis?"

"In some ways, yes." He adds wryly, "Though I have entirely different opinions about his ideas of religion."

"Interesting. May I borrow it, after you have completed?"

Father Dominic smiles, and peers up at me behind his round spectacles. "Of course." He says, "But I doubt that's what you came to see me about. You look troubled, Jesse." He takes a scrap of paper, and marks his place in the book. Setting it down on table nearby, he asks, "So tell me. What is bothering you?"

_ Give us this day, _

_ Our daily bread _

_ And forgive us our debts… _

_ As we forgive our debtors. _

I open my mouth to speak, but then think better of it. What was the use of unloading my burdens onto someone else?

There is absolutely nothing that he could do. I already know what he would say.

No, I decide. It would be better to keep things the way they were. I could fix this on my own.

It is not even that serious.

"No," I say, very aware of the flush around my face. "I just, wanted to come and see how you were doing."

From behind his rimmed glasses I can see the priest's eyebrows go up.

"Err, and also to ask you about that book," I stutter, a bit nervously. Ay, _Dios_. I gesture randomly towards his bookshelf, covered with many versions of the bible. (Why someone would need that many translations though, I cannot fully comprehend.) Glancing at a name on the topmost shelf, I point towards the heavy volume. "_Critical Theory Since Plato_. Are you currently reading it?"

"No," says the Father, and he looks at me, a bit bemused. "I'll have Susannah bring it to you."

"Thank you." I mumble, trying to hide the blush that crept up with her name. "I suppose I shall be going."

"Yes," he murmurs. "I suppose so." He turns once more to glance up at me, already picking up his book. His eyes hold a somewhat suspicious look in them. "Goodbye, Jesse."

"Goodbye."

— 42 —

The sun is already setting when Susannah comes home.

She stomps into the room looking flustered, her pale cheeks turning a bright red when she sees me on the window seat, my traditional placing. And unfortunately, though I do not think she noticed, I feel myself flush as well.

"Hello," I say, trying my best to remain casual. I had decided long ago that if I treat her like a sister, all the awkwardness will soon go away.

Desperate to keep a normal conversation, I ask, somewhat hesitantly, "So how was school?"

She doesn't look at me.

"Fine." She answers, blowing up her bangs with as she sat down on the bed.

She begins emptying the contents of her book bag, assiduously avoiding my gaze. I catch a glimpse of her face. It looks strangely dull. And judging by her taciturn behavior, there's something she isn't telling me.

Only this time, I am completely confused as to what it is. This expression, the one she has on her delicate face, I am not familiar with.

Though I very well should be. For I doubt it existed, before I came along.

Shameful enough as it is to admit, I have spent the past year memorizing all of Susannah's facial expressions. And I am sure I can recall every detail, if ever asked in those game shows Mr. Ackerman likes watching.

The way her eyes brighten when she is joyful, the sulk in her face when she is sad. The irresistible pout her lips form whenever she is unhappy about something, the imperceptible smile that hovers about her lips when she's contented, so sweet, like a reflection upon her heart.

It pleases me, however strange it is, to know that I know her so well, sometimes, I like to think, better than she knows herself. It makes me closer to her, in a way that makes up for the great distance placed between us after…

…after that soul-shattering kiss.

— 42 —

Moments later, after Susannah has finished emptying her stuff, she comes towards me with something behind her back.

Already I can feel my back tightening, as I slip into my expressionless mode, careful not to look her in the eye.

She places in my hands a huge, leather bound book.

I stare at her bewilderedly for a few moments, until she mutters,

"Father Dominic says hello."

_'And lead us not into temptation, _

_ But deliver us from evil. _

_ For thine is the kingdom, _

_ And the power, _

_ And the glory, _

_ Forever and ever, _

_ Amen."_

* * *

So yeah. That was it. Nothing special, really. I just like it a whole lot better.

And the stuff about Kierkegaard? I have no idea. I just made up a whole bunch of crap based on the info I got on google. So please, if you're a big fan of philosophy or something. Don't shoot me.

Bye now!

_Luke Mably is hot. Review._


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